Bethany
Jernigan owes her bestie. Big time. So when wedding planning
overburdens the bride-to-be, Bethany steps in to handle the
nitty-gritty. But the guy in charge isn’t anything like she
imagined. He's gruff, tattooed, and 100% male. His staff is even
rougher around the edges, and it's not long before she feels as if
she's stepped into some kind of crazy alternate reality.

Are
those…bikers? Arguing about wedding favors?

Trey
Harding never wanted this to get so out of hand. One little lie
somehow snowballed into a world of dresses and flowers and food and
holy-hell-he's-in-over-his-head. But it’s not like he can confess
he’s not the wedding planner he’s pretending to be—especially
now that he's falling for the maid of honor! His charade is becoming
a farce, and as engines rev and ribbons fly, Trey’s running out of
time to figure out how to tell the truth without losing his new
family, his crew…or the woman of his dreams.

ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

Regina
Cole, lover of manly muscled arms, chest hair, and
mini-marshmallows, has been reading romance since her early teens.
When she’s not frantically pounding away at the keyboard, she can
be found fishing with her family, snuggling with her hubby and tiny
twin boys, or slinging mud in her magical home pottery studio. She
lives outside Raleigh, North Carolina.

Excerpt:

He
was in way over his head.

Mrs.
Yelverton was a freaking saint. All his life he’d been imagining
her as an evil, heartless, empty stranger who had abandoned him, and
now? Now?

How
could he tell her what he’d turned into?

“I,
well, I’m in charge of a kind of group.” He paused to clear his
throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck to clear the tensing of
the muscles there. “Yeah.”

“A
group? Like a business group?”

He
coughed, then took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, you could call it that.”

“What
kind of business are you in?”

Damn
it.

Her
stare was too clear, too honest, much too direct. He was struck by a
feeling he hadn’t been expecting. Somehow, someway, he was afraid
of disappointing her.

Well,
if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth.

There
wasn’t a way around it. Was there?

Desperate,
he looked around the kitchen while he took another long sip of
coffee.

What
to say? Because the truth—the shakedowns, the Robin Hood–style
robberies, the bodyguarding—none of it was exactly on the up and
up. There were definite legal and moral gray areas to what he did.
And while he had no problem with it personally, he didn’t want to
run the risk of disappointing her.

Who
was he turning into?

Desperate,
his gaze flew about the kitchen.

“Well,
we do a little…” Hell, she’d never believe he cooked. Something
else. Quick, you dumbass. Keep it vague. Stall.
“A
little organizing, you might say.”

She
nodded, an interested look on her face inviting him to continue. Ah,
dammit.

Keep
looking.A
container of herbs sat on the windowsill above the sink. Gardening?
Screw that. He scanned the rest of the kitchen. Nothing. No ideas
whatsoever.

“What
kind of events do you organize?”

Dammit.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.

He
rested his elbow on the tabletop, knocking a magazine to the floor.

“Whoops.
Sorry.” He bent down to get it.

A
woman in a beautiful white gown was spread across the back of the
magazine. The tagline for a bridal boutique advertisement read We
help you tie the knot in style.

“Not
a problem. So, you were saying?”

His
mind was blank. Totally, completely blank. His mouth opened, but
nothing came out.

Mrs.
Yelverton furrowed her brow in obvious concern. “Are you okay?”

He
had to say something. He looked down in desperation. The magazine was
still there, facedown beside him, the laughing woman in the white
gown like an angel of salvation.

“Weddings,”
he blurted out as he straightened in his seat. “We organize
weddings.”

What.
The. Actual. Fuck. Had. Just. Come. Out. Of. His. Mouth.

“Weddings.
Wow, I hadn’t expected that.”

He
coughed. “Yeah, me either.”

Mrs.
Yelverton laughed. “I can imagine. How did you get into it?”

Wanting
nothing more than to jump up and leave the county at a dead run, Trey
shrugged, trying to play it off. “I got a chance to do some,
enjoyed it, made my own business.”

“That’s
really impressive! What’s the business called?”

His
hand was lying atop the magazine beside him, his knuckles lining up
with the ad copy perfectly. He read the words out together.

Those
words should have made him feel amazing. Instead, he felt like a
scum-sucking bastard for lying to her.

Just
then, the door behind her opened, and Trey’s chest went vise-tight,
his heart clambering against his ribs in triple time.

She
was long, lean, with bone-straight blond hair and elfin features
complementing porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were a bit red, as if
she’d been crying recently. But despite the obviously brimming
emotion beneath the surface, she wore a bright smile. It was the kind
of expression he’d adopted many times over the years. Pretending
things were all right when everything had turned to ashes around him
was the only option he’d had at times, and seeing the same kind of
defense mechanism in her touched him in a way he wasn’t expecting.
Physically, she was just his type, and the way she moved into the
room, both cautious and confident—strong as hell despite whatever
was trying to bring her down—sparked immediate interest and
admiration in his gut.

This
was…unexpected.

“Oh,
Bethy, I didn’t expect you until late this afternoon.” Mrs.
Yelverton rose and pulled the girl into her arms.

A
wave of nausea overtook Trey. Was this girl…Was she…

Well,
so much for that short-lived spark of attraction.

“Trey,
I’d like you to meet Bethany.”

“Hi,”
the blond said, and Trey stood. She looked a little intimidated as he
stood to his full height.

He’d
been about to step toward her for the introduction, but he stopped.
No need to make her more uncomfortable. But the idea that she found
him scary was oddly disappointing.

“I’m
Bethany Jernigan,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to
shake.

“Trey
Harding,” he said, gripping her much smaller hand in his, trying to
ignore the softness of her skin, the faint tremble of her touch.

“Bethany,
I hope you won’t mind keeping this quiet from Sarah for now. I
haven’t had a chance to tell her about it. But this…” Mrs.
Yelverton drew Trey’s arm through hers. “This is Samuel.”

Bethany
gasped, her hand over her mouth, and Trey looked away. “Samuel?
ThatSamuel?”

Mrs.
Yelverton nodded delightedly. “My son. He’s finally home.”

“Oh…oh
my God.”

Trey
hated this. He felt awkward, like a sideshow freak. His spine
prickled, his feet nearly bouncing with the urge to get the hell out
of there.

“Trey,
Bethany has been part of our family for years now. She’s your
sister Sarah’s best friend and lived with us until she went to
college. Of course, she’s still got a room here. She’ll always be
welcome to come back home.” Mrs. Yelverton’s smile was gentle as
she looked at Bethany.

“Wait.
So we’re not related?” Trey gestured between himself and Bethany.

Mrs.
Yelverton laughed. “No, not by blood. But I hope you’ll be
close.”

Something
uncurled in his belly then, a knot of anxiety releasing as he looked
at Bethany Jernigan—no relation—with new eyes.